August 2021

It’s that time again: high summer in Greece, and the period when most Greeks have their holidays and so get on the move. Although some restrictions are still in place, lockdown is largely a thing of the past, and so the tourist season is looking healthier. However, in common with many other parts of the world, Greece is seeing the very contagious Delta variant taking its toll. Nevertheless, the country is still doing well with its vaccination programme: the other day I read that 5 million Greeks had received both doses of whichever vaccine. That is nearly half the population of this small country, and I’m told that the government hopes to have 60% of the population vaccinated by the end of this month. Fingers crossed that this happens.

Perhaps the less said about Australia the better, as muddle is succeeded by muddle, and as the whole idea of the federal system seems to be under strain. Then there’s the matter of the military running things: from this distance, such a development seems hard to believe, and is not a good sign. As I’ve said before, it is a sad business, that of viewing the Wide Brown Land now, and remembering the way it was once.

On a lighter note, I can report that I have had my elder grandsons and their parents staying. Nikitas and Maximus are now aged 15 and 13, and are sports-mad. As I’m sure I’ve said before, repetition being a feature of the ageing process, I approve of this, having been mad about running, tennis and hockey at a similar age. In the Australia of the day, there was not much to do apart from home, school, church, and sport. (My grandchildren can hardly believe that I was once pre-TV.) At present, the boys have made me interested in the Olympic Games once more, after a long period of disillusionment. So it has been good to note the Australian swimming successes, and the varied fortunes of the Greeks: one women’s rowing team broke a world record in the heats, but came only fifth in the final. The irony of life and sport: no medal, but the record still stands. But Greece has won gold on the water, anyway: in the men’s sculls.

I don’t know that I care to remember how many Olympic Games have taken place in my life time, but I don’t mind admitting that I have strong recall of coming home from school one November afternoon to find my mother fairly jumping up and down with glee. She was a great radio fan, Mum, but at a certain season in 1956 her favourite serials were replaced by coverage of the Olympics. On that long-ago day the swimming finals had been taking place, and she was delighted to tell me about the Women’s 100 metres, or was it yards? All-Australian glory, with Dawn Fraser, Lorraine Crapp and Faith Leech taking the medals. All were teenagers: Faith Leech was only 15. While pondering these scenes from the past, I reminded the boys that ex-king Constantine of Greece, now living quietly at Porto Heli in the eastern Peloponnese, won Olympic gold for yachting at the Rome Olympics in 1960. He was a glamorous figure then. The boys, of course, more or less said, ‘Who?’

The heat continues relentlessly, with temperatures refusing to budge from the high 30s. Readings of 40 and over are also expected next week, with this heat wave competing with the truly memorable one of 1987. I remember I attended three funerals in four days in the village then: many of the truly old could not cope with temperatures of 45, understandably. These days, sensible people avoid the beach in the middle of the day, and time their swims for early in the morning or for after sunset.

The political scene continues depressing in so many places, and my ex-Army son thoroughly disapproves of current western policy towards Afghanistan. So do I, and it is shocking to think of so many Afghan helpers, such as interpreters, being left to their Taliban fate. I understand some top brass in the British Army have written to the British Government deploring the general lack of concern for these people. The Australian Government should also take note; such Afghan people should be given an escape route in the form of visas.

While talking of these and related matters, ex-Army son came up with a sage saying, but confesses he can’t remember its origin. However, Professor Google tells me that the notion comes from an apocalyptic novel by one G.Michael Hopf.

Hard times create great men. Great men create good times. Good times create weak men. Weak men create hard times.

A pertinent comment on the cyclical nature of history, and an apt summary of our troubled times.